


Extracurricular Activities

by Doceo_Percepto, Sp00py



Series: NSFW Little Nightmares II [1]
Category: Little Nightmares (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bad Nicknames, Bullying, Child Abuse, Cutting, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drowning, Filth, Gang Rape, Humiliation, Mono has a bad time, Multi, Salirophilia, Swearing, Swirlies, Trauma, Vomit, child rape, pissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:20:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28328883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doceo_Percepto/pseuds/Doceo_Percepto, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sp00py/pseuds/Sp00py
Summary: Mono gets caught by the bullies again, and this time it's worse than usual.
Relationships: Bullies/Mono
Series: NSFW Little Nightmares II [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2074623
Comments: 10
Kudos: 72





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sp00py and Doc at it again.
> 
> Based heavily on the gif released by Tarsier of the Bullies just Having Fun.

Everybody thought the Teacher was the worst part of going to school. There was a reason for that: she demanded complete obedience, and if you even _looked_ at her wrong, her punishments could leave scars. Every single student either had a healthy fear of her, or was dead. Mono was no exception.

In his case, though, there was something he feared much _more_ than her.

See… adults were awful, but they were a predictable awful. Children - children were worse. They were monsters. Bullies. They did terrible things, with no rhyme or reason, purely because they could. Avoiding them every day at school, ducking away from their glares, trying to hide from them - these all were daily struggles. Things that had him jolting awake in the middle of the night, heart pounding. Things that had him dragging his feet on the way to school, dreading the sight of their malicious faces. 

He wished desperately he didn’t have to see them, or deal with them. But it wasn’t up to him. If you were a kid, you were required to go to school every single day, without fail. No weekends off, no breaks.

This day was like every other. 

Mono just needed to get out of the school. That was his goal. The bell had rung, he had survived the Teacher. Easy enough to just… leave, right? Down the hall. With all those gaping lockers. The swarms of dead, porcelain faces. The doors to be dragged through. Simple. Except for the part where this was the bullies’ favorite time of day to corner Mono.

Maybe he’d wait a bit, until more had left. So they wouldn’t have a chance to slip dead rats into his bag, or trip him, or grab him and steal his homework. Then he really would get in trouble with the Teacher, and he’d have more scars to add to the collection.

Mono rubbed his wrists in remembered pain as he leaned past a row of lockers. Nobody was paying attention to him, now. Too busy cracking sick jokes, jabbering amongst themselves, cramming paper into their backpacks. It was best to be forgotten and ignored. He just hoped it stayed that way.

The bustle in the halls drowned out any distinct noises, a hivemind buzz enjoying the brief time before the hours tied down with homework. Mono… never quite remembered what the homework was, even when he did it. Too little sleep, or too little care. He had more important things to worry about.

He clutched the straps of his bag hard enough to hurt, as if the cheap fabric would provide any shielding. Soon. Soon, he had to go. After most of the students had left, but before they locked the doors and the custodians began their hunt. It was a delicate balance Mono had perfected over the years.

As he watched, the students began to filter out in small groups, as they often did. Every back that disappeared out the door had him relaxing, just a little. So close. Home wasn’t exactly paradise, but at least nobody there hurt him. With just a little more patience, and a quick walk, he’d be home free.

His fingers squeezed the straps tighter. He felt like a sprinter, ready to launch from the starting line. The worst part were the stragglers. If they saw you, they gave chase, like a dog after a rabbit.

But if you dawdled, they could grab you at their leisure. You could miss the doors’ final moments unlocked. It was lose-lose, but one option was slightly less horrific.

Mono couldn’t spend another night in the school, so he ran.

Locker after locker, closed door after closed door, his feet slammed against the floor, he felt empty puppet eyes boring into him. He was different, and running, and _prey_.

Laughter swelled and more feet joined his. Not the sea from before, but still so, so many. With the ease of practice, Mono dodged books flying toward him. Cold, visibly jointed fingers scrabbled at his jacket and his backpack.

He stepped on a book that had narrowly missed his head. It flew out from under him like it was oiled. Mono’s butt hit the floor hard, and pain zapped up his spine, rattling his teeth.

One mistake. In the second his foot touched the book cover, Mono knew he was screwed. There wasn’t room for mistakes. Not here.

Hands seized his bag, and hauled him backwards before he could even fully process the pain from the fall.

“No, no, no _please_ ,” Mono wailed, kicking for any purchase on the slick tiles, hands scrabbling at the others’ sleeves. Another time, he could be humiliated about how quickly he turned to piteous begging. Right now, there was no room for anything but fear. Their cackles were the only answer, and more kids joined in, lifting a leg here, an arm there, until he was being manhandled into one of the bathrooms.

The lights flickered and buzzed, wires exposed, fluorescent tubes poorly connected and old. They cast everything in a sickly, shadowy pallor that seemed to only accentuate the broken tiles, the questionable stains and puddles, the grunged up mirrors. Most were intact, but the one farthest from the door had been shattered and nobody had cleaned it up.

Mono knew this bathroom all too well. Dread sunk deep in his guts. It twisted up his intestines, making him swallow back bile, and they hadn’t even _done_ anything yet. What were they going to do today? Make him lick a urinal? Kick him until he pissed red? Mono had a list of previous grievances to pull from, but knew they always, _always_ managed to find something worse.

Mono was their punching bag; their favorite victim to vent out their frustration and sick humor. This wasn’t the first time they’d caught him, and it wouldn’t be the last, but that didn’t make this any easier. He was different from them, not some hollow-headed doll that sucked up to the Teacher, and that was excuse enough.

Altogether they threw him against the back wall; his skull bounced off the wall and he seethed through his teeth, instantly covering the sore spot with his hands. Fuck. _Fuck._ This was bad. His narrowed eyes flitted to where they stood, arrayed around him, every face pulled into a sadistic grin. They were between him and the door now, and they weren’t going to let him escape. One of them had his book bag in hand. Absurdly, he worried about his homework. It wasn’t getting done tonight, though he’d already started on it in class. What a waste.

“What do you want?” Mono bit out sullenly, his bravado a poor disguise.

“ _What do we want_ , he says,” one chortled, and everyone else found this _very_ funny for some reason. 

This prompted a litany of jeering, and Mono pressed his back to the cool tile of the wall. If he were brave (or stupid) he could try to rush them and make it to the door. He was neither of those things. He was just trapped. Powerless, and everyone in this bathroom knew it. He grit his teeth, forced himself to breathe.

Mono’s eyes darted from one to the next, like he might somehow identify who would be the first aggressor. The stupid thing was that it didn’t matter if he could or not. There was no ring leader. They were all there to see him suffer and they’d all get their chance to do something awful to him. What did it matter who started it? 

Still the primal part of his brain thought, _maybe if we know, we can stop it. We can fight back. Escape. Do SOMETHING._

Yeah, that went just about as well as he figured when someone darted in, hooked their fingers around his belt loops, and yanked his pants to the floor, all happening so fast that Mono didn’t do a damn thing. Oh god. His underwear had been dragged down with them.

Color flooded his cheeks as he swore and scrambled to pull his pants up to a swelling chorus of laughter and catcalling. The bathroom suddenly felt much, much colder.

His throat clenched tight, and his eyes stung. Assholes, every last one of them. He didn’t need to pants any of them to see that they were dicks.

As he yanked his pants roughly up his thighs, someone’s hand shot out and caught the fabric. Mono froze, trousers halfway pulled up, and someone’s shadow fell across him. 

His eyes crawled up to meet theirs. It was a girl, her grin sharp and wicked. “What’s wrong, _Mono_?” she asked. She said his name like that alone was a joke. “Afraid to show us your tiny dick?”

He flinched. Oh god, he wanted to disappear. If the floor could eat him right about now, or at the least collapse under their collective weight, that would be great. Instead he was left hunching his shoulders and trying to look as tiny as possible, as if that would do him any good. His wrists closed together in an effort to hide what everyone was pointing and laughing at now.

“Let go,” he growled lowly.

“I’m sorry, did you say something?” she smiled innocently. 

His teeth gritted together. This was fucking humiliating. The color reached his ears and he ducked his head even lower, so low that all he saw was the grimy floor and the dozen scuffed shoes flocked around him. 

“ _Please let go_.” It was a whimper more than anything else. He prayed that reached only her ears. Of course, it didn’t end up mattering whether it had or not.

“Wo-ow!” she crowed loudly. “Did you hear that, guys? He’s _begging,_ isn’t that so dumb?” She leaned in close, and whispered, “Can you be any _more_ pathetic?” Snickering, she let go of his pants in favor of shoving him hard on the shoulder. In another circumstance, he could have caught himself no problem. As it was, his bunched trousers snagged his legs before he could catch himself and he crashed onto his ass for the _second_ time that day. 

Mortified tears pricked at his eyes as he finally managed to tug his pants back safely around his waist - not that it mattered, because he already felt exposed and violated. All right, ha-ha, he’d been pantsed and he’d begged, now couldn’t they leave him alone?

No such luck. 

“Oh my god, is he crying?”

A tide of sadistic laughter. 

“No,” someone chortled, “there’s no way… right? He can’t be - _is_ _he-_?”

“I’m not-” Mono bit out, but his voice broke on the second word and the fresh round of howling amusement had him fighting back the urge to _actually_ cry. _No no no_ if he did that, they’d really tear him apart - This was such a _stupid_ thing to cry over, too: it wasn’t like they hadn’t done worse things to him! More painful things, like that time they found and used a pack of cigarettes, only to stub them out on his arm.

The burns had left round, raised scars, and he’d had to hide them from his mom so she wouldn’t worry (any more than she already did). He hadn’t cried then. So why _now?_

He didn’t exactly have all the time in the world to break down why he was being so stupidly sensitive right now, because now that they’d called it out, he was losing the battle of fighting back tears. And crying? Crying was exactly the wrong thing to do.

Crying was blood in the water, and drop by drop that worked their way free of his eyes, the bullies scented it out.

“He _is_ ,” the girl said, wrenching his chin up and exposing the few tear tracks that had made their way down his face to the others. He hated her touch. He hated all the eyes riveted on him, like he was some sideshow freak.

Mono jerked his chin free and rubbed furiously, futilely at his eyes, the rough fabric of his school jacket irritating the skin. Making things worse. Everything was worse, already.

“Shut up,” he stuttered weakly, face scrunched to hold the rest of the tears back and protect him from their looks. He tried to push through the crowd to get away, but the arms he shoved against shoved right back, and he stumbled right back to where he started. Surrounded.

“Let me go!”

“Ah-ah, not yet,” someone said in a sing-song voice. “We just wanna have some fun, Mono. You like fun, don’t you?”

“I bet he only likes _fun_ with his mommy.”

Mono’s head snapped up at the mention of his mom. And that tone -- because they were too stupid to understand innuendos, the one who’d spoken was pelvic thrusting as he laughed.

Boiling rage replaced his fear. “Shut UP! Don’t talk about her like that!”

“What’s wrong?” one of them said. All their faces, all their voices were blurring together. “Don’t wanna face the truth about your slut mom?”

“I bet fucking her’s like throwing a hotdog down a hallway.” More laughter. Mono could barely hear it over the blood rushing in his ears. “Well, Mono? What’s it like to fuck your mommy? Or should we just ask the mailman?”

“FUCK YOU!” Mono shrieked, launching himself at one of the kids. Was it the one who last spoke? He didn’t know, and he didn’t fucking care.

The bully fell back, head cracking on the floor. Silence fell as the last echo of the collision faded.

Mono sat back, chest heaving, hands balled into fists. The bully pushed herself up, a crack across her face. She touched the injury gingerly, but that was all it took for part of her head to slide off and shatter on the floor.

Suddenly, time continued, silence was replaced with shouting, and Mono was grabbed and dragged off of her. The bully climbed to her feet, the part of her face still intact twisted up into a scowl.

“You broke my face, you asshole!” she yelled, following after. Her foot swung forward, right at his crotch. Pain blinded him. His knees buckled, and a wave of nausea surged.

Hands grabbed at his arms and pulled his now pliant, throbbing body into a stall.

“I’m sorry!” Mono tried, though he wasn’t sorry at all, and it did nothing to stop them. He knew what was coming. They’d done it before. Flipped him around, dragged him over a toilet -- this one was caked in old filth and the water was a muddy, murky brown -- and held him under that noxious soup as someone leaned on the handle to make it flush. “No no no-” his body recoiled, those memories flooding in. “Please, I’m sorry, _I’m sorry_ -”

He might as well have said nothing. Fingers wound into the curls of his hair and clenched tight, as other hands arranged him in place. The seeming fragility of their joints belied the actual strength behind them as Mono writhed, but got no leeway.

“Maybe you should think before you act,” someone sneered, and then they wrested his head down, hard enough for pain to rake down his neck. He had the sense to hold his breath and scrunch his eyes closed before his face was plunged under the polluted water. 

It was frigid and _slimy,_ and Mono had to fight back the instant urge to open his mouth and gag. He got an arm free of the bullies’ grasp, and braced it on the toilet seat, fear and disgust overwhelming him as he struggled for air and escape. Anything that wasn’t the rancid water.

The other kids weren’t going to give an inch. Not after his perceived slight. New hands came down on him, pulling his arms behind his back and shoving his head down harder. Stupidly, his nose smashed against the porcelain and smarted.

Then, they leaned on the lever, and water began to swirl -- the toilet was clogged. Between his stinging nose and the water rising, Mono couldn’t help snorting out the offending liquid, only for his lungs to instantly ache for air. 

He bucked and writhed, feet slipping on the slick floor, fingers scrabbling at anything they could. Cloth tore, his nails bent. _They were going to drown him_. No, no he had to hold his breath, he had to keep holding it. Except water was flushing up his nose - 

Mono’s back arched, a last, desperate bid for freedom as his muscles cramped, as he fought everything screaming to breathe, to vomit, to get free. They didn’t let him go. White dots flashed under his eyelids and his mind screamed, _don’t breathe!_ But instinct won out and in the next second he sucked down the muck.

The bullies let him up, _finally_ . His burning lungs heaved involuntarily, and grey water spewed from his mouth. Air, finally, _air._ He swallowed breath after breath for dear life, gasping, and slumped against the toilet seat, barely cognizant that the kids had let up their hold. Exhaustion settled deep in his bones; his eyelids drooped. Holy fuck, it had never felt so good to just breathe before.

Reality slowly oozed back in, along with the chattering of half a dozen voices. 

“-disgusting, it’s all down his front-”

“-fucking gross-”

Mono’s skin went from a deathly cold pallor to shameful flush as their words stabbed in. He hadn’t noticed before because he was too busy trying to not _die_ , but now he could feel that the front of his shirt was chilly and wet, sticking a bit to his chest. Not all of the swallowed water had made it back into the toilet. He spit the foul taste out of his mouth, as best he could (it’d take a lot of teeth brushing, he could tell already). “You had your fun,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “Now please leave me alone.”

“Oh sure,” one of them said with a dismissive snort. “Yeah, you can go home, _Moan_ -o.”

They backed out of the stall, and Mono didn’t even care that they called him that stupid name. It wasn’t even clever. Point was, he could crawl home, lick his wounds, and then make at least a little more headway on the homework he was now behind on.

A hand caught on his shoulder. Shit.

“Oh, wait. Sorry, we weren’t done.” A saccharine smile. 

“He actually believed it was over?” 

Mono wouldn’t say believed -- he had hoped, but he couldn’t admit to himself he fell for such an easy, obvious lie. He wouldn’t gain anything by telling them that, though. Humiliated, weary, and scared, he looked from one to the next. God, what now?

A quick yank, and he slipped, toppling back into the stall. Mono’s head cracked against the toilet bowl.

“You broke my head. Fair’s fair,” the girl from before cackled as he clutched his head. The world swam, the stench seemed somehow sharper, stronger. Every laugh and jeer was stabbing into his brain.

He tried to stand. Instant regret. Mono was going to puke. 

He spun around and dropped instinctively before the toilet. What little he’d eaten for lunch surged up, acidic and hot. Mono clutched the toilet seat for support as he heaved, until nothing was left, and he slumped forward.

“Looks like he likes being in there,” another said, though Mono was having trouble parsing who was saying what anymore. Not like it mattered. 

“Well, we should give him what he wants,” another snide remark.

Mono held his breath, fear spiking: they were going to dunk him again. His hands braced against the dirty toilet seat. No, he couldn’t let that happen. Hands came down on his neck and fingers tangled in his hair. No no no-

“Wait.” 

Relief shot through him. He’d be spared. Maybe. He wasn’t naive enough to think he’d get out of this without any more injuries, but maybe they were at least going to slow down on the drowning thing. Maybe they saw how bad his condition was, and didn’t want to risk killing him. Much as the Teacher hated him, students weren’t supposed to kill other students. 

“I have a better idea.”

All his relief deflated. Drowning? Maybe not. But whatever they had planned wasn’t going to be good, either. 

Whispers, discussion Mono couldn’t make out. It made his skin crawl, not knowing what was going to happen. He gripped the toilet harder, as though that would offer any protection. Without his input or knowledge, though, something was decided. They crowded into the stall, all hot breath and eyes burning holes into his back.

“Guess what, Moan-o? We’ve found a use for you, after all.”

That sounded… ominous. Mono tensed, teeth grit against any response. He was at war with himself, wanting to know, but dreading what they’ve decided. Which was worse? Both sucked. This entire thing sucked. He just wanted to go home.

Hands began to paw at his waistband. Mono’s own flew to hold his pants in place, spine straightening. They pulled harder, and when that didn’t work immediately, Mono heard then felt the icy shink of a blade opening and slicing through his pants and underwear in one quick slice that left a thin line of pain along his ass. 

“Taking bets on if he’s better or worse than his slut mom,” one of the bullies called from the back, to a chorus of “better,” “worse,” and “who gives a fuck, let’s fuck him!”

Eager hands pressed at his shoulders, at his head, forcing him down to bend over the toilet bowl again. Everything suddenly felt cold, and Mono failed to suppress a shudder.

No. _No way_. They weren’t -- oh god, they were.

They were going to rape him.


	2. Chapter 2

This was worse than anything they’d done before. Faced with another level of depravity and torture, his exhausted body found new energy. He surged backward, and enough momentum was behind the action that the many hands upon him lost grip. All he managed was to run into a few bodies before they reasserted their hold and forced him violently into position once more.

This had to be a joke, right? They’d done so much before but never this; it had to be a joke-

“You can stop now,” he squeaked, “Guys, seriously-“

Hands pried his cheeks apart. It didn’t seem like a joke. It seemed very, very real, now that he was on display and colder and more exposed down there than he’d ever felt before. His body lurched, and was again wrangled into submission. Fuck.  _ Fuck _ .

“Please, stop!  _ Stop it _ !” There was no avoiding the panicked edge to the pleas. Dignity, self-respect. None of that meant anything. He just wanted them to  _ stop. _

They laughed and jeered.

“Here, I’ll help you. Make it a little easier.” someone mocked. That’s all the warning he got before they crammed their finger up inside him and he jerked like a fish on a line. His elbow struck the stall wall and smarted; his rattling gasp reached his ears with a watery muffle from the toilet bowl. 

“Listen to his noises!” someone howled. 

“Do two fingers!”

“Hurry up, I want to stick my dick in.”

“Shut up, geez. He’s as tight and dry as a nun’s cunt.”

Two fingers shoved in and stabbed his insides. Mono jumped and cracked his head against the toilet handle. His skull throbbed and his thoughts swam. Prying fingers were wriggling inside his body; the sensation nauseated him with its sheer wrongness. This was too much. Too awful, even for them. 

“Please,” he burbled pathetically. Hot tears streaked down his cheeks. No, crying was weakness, don’t show weakness… Stupid reminders about how to protect and defend himself flooded his mind. Habits he’d picked up over time to stop bad things from happening to him. They rang like klaxons but they were so utterly  _ useless _ here. He whimpered under the weight of advice that could do nothing to save him - or more likely, from the fact more fingers were clawing out his insides and it burned all the way up his spine.

When they wrenched out, something thicker pressed at his entrance.

This was going too fast -  _ as if there’d be a right speed, _ he thought humorlessly. Still, time was zipping by, and he could barely begin to grasp what was happening before they made it worse.

He clenched instinctively against the threat, and with his face nearly pressed against the toilet seat, he managed to choke out, “no, please, not this -“ All his pleas fell on deaf ears.

They grabbed his hips and shoved in. Burning pain raked up his spine. His stomach instantly heaved and tried to lose its contents, but there was nothing left except stomach acid and bile, which he choked down. Then they started to  _ move. _

Spasms wracked through him. Fresh tears fell and plinked into the toilet water. Every thrust elicited a new cry, until the energy for even that waned. All he could do was surrender to his involuntary reactions, twitching and jolting helplessly. He wanted to be so far away from the things that were happening to him, but he couldn't escape his body, couldn't escape his mind. Couldn't escape this stupid stall, or the dozen hands holding him in place. Things just kept happening, he kept enduring, and for some reason fate wasn’t merciful enough to just end his existence now.

The first one finished, and he was left aching and empty and sore. Then another stepped in, and forced themselves inside. Itchy blood crawled down his aching thighs. He hurt deeper than he thought possible, from his fingers clenching futilely and desperately at the toilet bowl, to his straining back hunched into the sluttiest position they could imagine, to his abused hole which had given up all attempts at stopping their entry, to all his muscles weakening from sheer exertion, and the headache sending wave after wave of dizzy misery through his skull. 

Mono stared at the stall wall, blurry through his tears, fighting to pretend his body wasn’t hurting, wasn’t -- wasn’t being  _ touched _ and used. It was impossible. They were violating him, inside and out. Soon enough, something else was dripping down his thighs along with blood, and he felt sick to his core.  _ God, please let this stop _ . Please let this end. Not that he believed in any God - a God worth anything wouldn’t let this happen.

His reactions to the agonizing pain dwindled as numbness trickled into his limbs. Everything was still horrible, still sickening. But a cottony blanket descended over his mind. He gazed tiredly at the chipping paint. Tuned out the sounds of him being used like some animal. Entered some kind of mental purgatory, where he knew this pain wouldn’t ever really cease, but he was still surviving, and that was something. 

Then a sharp lick of pain scrawled alongside his backside like fire. It didn’t hurt more or less than anything else, but it hurt  _ differently _ , and Mono jerked his head up and cried out. 

Their voices popped back into reality as they chuckled and whooped. 

“What should I write on him?” 

“Slut!”

“Nerd!”

“Cum dumpster!”

Mono realized belatedly that nobody was inside him. He was raw and aching, but no longer stuffed overfull.

He should escape. Make some attempt to.  _ Pretend _ , at least, to fight back. Blood tickled as it rolled from the cut on his lower back, such a delicate sensation for all the blunt, rough agony throbbing through him now.

“Don’t--” he got out, before another stinging line was opened along his back, treading dangerously close to his spine. Mono’s teeth clicked shut on the whine that wanted to escape, turning it into a hiss. He writhed away from the cold edge slicing him, twisted a little as though  _ seeing _ what was being done would make it any less horrible. As though he could brace himself for the pain, or at least know when it was coming.

Instead of the knife used on him before, one of the bullies had picked up a shard of broken mirror. It glinted yellow-ish white and red (with his  _ blood _ ) in the dull bathroom light. Sharp, but dirty. Hands shoved his head back down and yanked his shirt higher.

Glass raked into flesh. His cry was plaintive and weak from the torture that had already been inflicted upon him. Exhaustion had long since set into his own bones, but every fresh scour into his skin forced him to convulse like a puppet on a string. Things were simply happening to him, and muscle and sinew responded the way they were wont - to protect their own, even when Mono’s mind was defeated at the futility of it. 

Any instinct wouldn't save him here, though. 

The minutes spent gouging into his back stretched on, every line stinging and overlapping until it became a throbbing mess of pain. And that he couldn’t do anything, that his mind and body had succumbed to this fate, terrified him in a dull, distant way.

They carved and carved and carved until at last he was released, his entire back searing with bloody letters. Laughter rang out. Whatever they had written must’ve been cruel and stupid to incite their amusement. 

The bullies poured out of the stall to crowd in front of the sinks, leaving Mono slumped. He heard them rifling through stuff, laughing among themselves, muttering. The air around him was cold on his exposed skin, soothing the fire of his injuries. He sank from the toilet to the floor, and nobody stopped him.

There was no energy to move. Even breathing hurt. He couldn’t bring himself to care about them pawing through what was most likely his own backpack. What did it even matter, after what they’d done to him? What did  _ anything _ matter? Mono just wanted to curl up in his bed at home, but for now, he only had the tile of the bathroom. He was delirious enough to think that they were done, and he could rest. They’d had their fun. They’d beat him seemingly an inch from unconsciousness, and left him riddled with new bruises and cuts he dreaded seeing in the mirror. Now, they had to be done.

The warm stream of water splashing his face startled him from the daze he’d fallen into. Laughter bubbled anew around him, and Mono tasted salt, smelled the sharp scent of piss. His confusion evaporated immediately, to be replaced with a shameful flush and indignant squawk, as though Mono had any dignity left to worry about. He scrambled weakly to escape the stream of urine, and all it succeeded in doing was getting it all down his side and stinging into wounds.

“God, he’s so gross,” one of the bullies said, to agreement and more laughter. Mono wasn’t sure what was pee and what was tears on his face. He wiped furiously at them, regardless. It smelled rank and slicked down his hair that had only just began to dry, mixing with the old toilet water.

Mono said nothing, just pressed his lips and eyes tightly shut to protect them. The splash of piss went on far longer than he thought possible -- or time just meant nothing, now. His skin prickled and crawled, and all he could do was wait. Wait for it to be over. Wait for them to get bored, though they never seemed to tire of tormenting him. Then, it finally, finally stopped, and he was left to marinate in the liquids.

A hush passed through the crowd that barely registered for Mono, but then the bullies were speaking much quieter, shifting. He heard the faintest creak of the rusty bathroom door, and the pressure of too many people, too many eyes began to decrease.

“Grab the homework,” one of them hissed, and then the door closed one last time.

Mono was alone. The warmth of others seeped from the air, leaving just the dripping of water and his own, pathetic sniffles to fill the bathroom. Seconds oozed on, and still he didn’t move. His ears were ringing, and he wondered faintly if that was a side effect of shock. Was he in shock?

He should get up, now. There was nobody to shove him back down, or… do things to him. And…

_ The custodians. _

A new fear laced its way through Mono like lightning, different from the bullies, different from the teacher or missing homework or anything like that. Mono knew all those. No matter how horrible they were, he knew them. No kid ever came back to school if they’d stayed late. It was a fate that Mono had so long and so carefully avoided, being caught after hours by the custodians. If he didn’t get up now, if he didn’t try to either hide or escape the school...

Despair cut in,  _ who cares? _ Maybe he’d be better off. Death was preferred to forcing himself up, and having to live with what had been done. But this thought was brief, and nearly as soon as he thought it, Mono raised his head from the floor, and brought his hands under him. Air hissed through his teeth. Movement served only to inflame all his wounds, and set his muscles aching fresh. Nothing had been left unscathed, inside or out. 

The bullies had gotten out, somehow. Maybe -- Mono wasn’t sure. He wasn’t like them. They were teachers’ pets and popular, for what that meant here. They had their ways that he didn’t. So hiding it was.

He crawled (he couldn’t even stand, and he tried not to feel pathetic at failing that) to the stall door and peered out. His bag had been torn open, books, papers, pencils all scattered around. Mono knew his homework wasn’t going to be there, so he didn’t even bother gathering it all up. He had bigger problems than the homework, bigger even than the pain radiating up his spine, the grossness on and in his body. 

But Mono just wanted (no,  _ needed _ ) at least one, solitary minute to recover. In this condition, he couldn’t run from the custodians. He couldn’t even  _ walk _ to some place he might be safe.

He sank to the grimy, urine-stained floor. Maybe if he was quiet and still, if he curled himself up so small like he was nothing at all, they wouldn’t find him. He didn’t know what to do, elsewise. Thinking was hard, head all buzzy and cloudy, thoughts muffled by exhaustion. He curled his arms under his head, hiding his face away from the reality of his situation, as though that’d help clear his mind, or at least let him pretend.

All he longed for was to be back home, in his bed, clean and free of pain. He wasn’t going to make it home tonight, though. They must have locked the doors by now, chained them closed so nobody can break in, but nobody can escape, either.

Mono dragged himself back into the stall, tucking himself deeper behind the toilet. Small. Miniscule. Just let him rest. Don’t come in, please.  _ Please. _

The door creaked open. 


End file.
